Whisperers of The Lost
by IlluminatedM
Summary: After being tortured in Mafoy Manor, Hermione spends a few days recuperating in Shell Cottage, but the smile on her face is nothing more than a mask to hide the broken girl inside. Will a Potterwatch broadcast manage to remind her of the man she's fighting for, or will she convince herself that he's forgotten her and drift off into nothingness?


Hermione lay on the couch of the Shell Cottage's small living room with her bandaged arm draped across her body and her face twisting up in pain every few moments. The dark magic from the dagger was still damaging a few of the nerve endings in her arm, and she cried out in pain each time it happened. To distract herself from the agony, she tried to focus on her thoughts, but the effort was futile. Reading hurt her arm, talking hurt the throat that she'd screamed dry, and thinking made her head spin; these were the things that Hermione Granger did, though, and she couldn't just stop being herself the moment that it became slightly inconvenient.

She considered the possibility of allowing the pain to take over, in hopes that she'd fall unconscious, but then they'd have to call a healer, and that put everyone else at risk as well. Instead, she turned her head and allowed her eyes to follow Harry as he brought everyone into the living room and started fiddling with the radio. He did it every night, unsure of when the next broadcast would be, and everyone always leaned forward in anticipation, as though they might be able to hear the non-existent voices on the other side if they managed to lean in far enough. Obviously, that tactic never really worked out, and everyone was left disappointed. Potterwatch was the only thing that any of them really hoped for at the end of the day.

For them, it was a way of staying updated, but for Hermione it was only a source of depression and anxiety. If they weren't broadcasting, that meant that they _couldn't. _But, if they couldn't, was it because they were busy or because they were captured? While she understood that Harry had been doing this in an effort to help her feel better, it only made her feel worse. Every night, they'd hear the static of the radio echoing through the small cottage, and every night she would convince herself that he was dead. Bill had told them the last broadcast was only a few days ago – the day of their arrival, in fact – and that they shouldn't worry a bit, but Hermione was torn up inside. She couldn't go on if Fr-

"Hello everyone, and welcome to another night of Potterwatch!" Fred's voice echoed out of the radio and through the room, interrupting the dark path that Hermione's thoughts had started to travel down.

Though, still, she had the worst feeling. Fred's voice didn't hold its usual jovial tone, and that immediately left her ill at ease. Usually, he was enthusiastic as he gave his reports; today he seemed downright beaten, like he had already given up on life. She couldn't help but wonder what had happened to him. She tried, instead, to push past the bad feeling and focus on the program. Whatever it was, he was doing well enough to broadcast, and that was always good news.

"We have received reports of a Lightning strike near Wiltshire earlier this week, along with a trail of billowing Flames. You know what that means, ladies and gents. If we know it, you know that _He _knows is, so we have to ask: Is he too busy torturing innocents to actually contain these wild elements? Does he even have the _ability_?" She heard the voice of Lee Jordan ask, followed soon thereafter by his deep chuckle.

At that, she saw Harry grin; he rather liked his codename, and he enjoyed the few jokes that came along with Potterwatch. Ron seemed to think his was rather wonderful as well, but she had yet to hear anything remotely related to her at all, and she wondered if maybe she wasn't important enough to mention. The idea that Fred had given up on her – that he might have decided to move on – left her more broken than any amount of withering beneath the knife hand of Bellatrix LeStrange. This kind of pain tore through her chest and left her immobile. She let out a small, hushed sob and tried to continue listening, but she couldn't stand the feeling of hearing his voice so close when he was truly worlds away, so she tuned it out and let herself think.

She wondered if he knew she was listening; perhaps this was his way of telling her to let him go. She could understand that, after all. It had been months since they'd seen each other, and she hadn't touched him since the night of Bill's wedding. Who would want to deal with the weight of that during wartime? She thought him a bit better than that, though, and considered that maybe he was just waiting to tell her when this was all over. Maybe that wasn't it at all; perhaps she hadn't been important enough to mention, but that didn't mean Fred had forgotten about her altogether, did it? Hermione wasn't sure what _anything _meant anymore.

Still, Hermione allowed herself to savor the sound of his voice. She heard it far too rarely, and it seemed to be the only thing that put her at ease these days. She didn't care much about what he was saying; if she just tuned it all out and focused on the rhythm, the pitch, and the way he spoke, she could pretend that they were spending another summer night on the roof of the Burrow, and his arms were wrapped around her. Her heart was at rest and her mind finally settled, for a moment, at least.

That one moment of sheer bliss was probably enough to get her to sleep for a few hours, and she knew that she desperately needed it. Ignoring the look Harry was giving her out of the corner of his eye, Hermione readjusted her pillows and pulled the blanket snug around her body, staring at the radio with heavy, glazed eyes. His voice was the most magical thing to her right now; it gave her hope in the darkness.

"Still, we would like to note that there's been no Rain in the forecast. If anyone has information concerning its most recent location, you know who to tell." Fred's voice muttered as Hermione tuned back in, and she was taken aback.

Rain? Well, she supposed that made sense, and she didn't really care what her codename was, but why was he asking where she was? Hadn't she been seen with Harry and Ron? It was then that she remembered the Snatchers. They had identified Ron and Harry almost on sight, but they had no idea who _she _was, so they obviously wouldn't mention her when spreading rumors of their impressive capture. She wondered, for the first time, if Fred was actually certain that she was alive.

"That's it for Potterwatch tonight with Rapier and River." Lee said into the microphone, struggling to talk above the apparent struggling in the background.

With the recent mental revelation, Hermione was already on the verge of tears. She couldn't imagine the pain he would be in if he truly thought that she was gone.

"The password for the next broadcast is Granger," Fred announced, his voice taking on a broken tone; she was sure that he was crying.

As the tears began to roll down her cheeks, Hermione allowed herself to life her eyes and saw that everyone was staring at her, failing to understand the significance of what Fred had said on the radio. Well, everyone except for Bill, who was looking at Hermione with slightly widened eyes for a moment before a look of understanding came across his face. Everything had happened so quickly, and Hermione had hardly been able to tell _Fred _how she felt, let alone tell anyone else. So, she remained silent and allowed the people in the room to think she'd gone mad with pain as she cried seemingly endless tears into the pillow.

"I love you too, Fred," she whispered into the pillow as the people began to leave the room.

She didn't know that she'd ever see him again, but to hear his voice saying her name was enough for that moment. It hardened her resolve and made her whole. She would get through this war, all gods be damned. It wouldn't be for Harry, or Ron, or even herself; she would make it through this war for him, and that was enough for right now.


End file.
